


forbidden

by venndaai



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family, Friendship, Multi, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meditations on love between Jedi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. companionship

Passion leads to pain, the Jedi said. And Juhani knew this to be true. It was passion for war that drove the Mandalorians to rain death down on Cathar. Passion for violence that had driven men to kill her father and hurt her mother. Passion for cruelty that caused Tarisians to kick alien children in the streets. Passion that created Juhani's ungovernable anger, held her back from being who she wanted to be.

Revan hadn't been passionate. Revan had been calm and tall and strong, an ebony statue of some distant hero reaching down to take the hand of a starving girl with a collar on her neck.

Passion leads to pain, the Jedi had told her. Juhani lay in the long grass, eyelids half-closed, the light from Dantooine's sun filtering in through her long eyelashes. She listened to the insects chirping to each other in the grass. Singing out their mating calls. She rolled over, bits of grass clinging to her fur, and pressed her lips to the hollow of Belaya's throat.

What they had wasn't passion, Juhani was certain of it. She loved Belaya, but she also loved the wind rippling over the plains and the crashing of thunder, and there was nothing wrong with that, was there? Belaya was part of the beautiful side of the universe, the world that had been hidden from her for the first half of her life. Belaya's skin tasted of salt and dust. Juhani loved her like she loved fresh air and cool water and sound sleep without fear.

Later, Belaya said, Don't go. She said it without passion, without meeting Juhani's eyes, but her grip on Juhani's arm was tight enough to hurt.

I have to, Juhani replied, feeling confused and tense.

Belaya said, I don't want you to. Her nails were digging grooves in Juhani's skin through fabric and fur. Juhani laid her palm over Belaya's hand, and Belaya glanced up, eyes wide, vulnerable like Juhani had never seen her before. In that moment, Juhani was overwhelmed by a sudden desperate desire give in. To stay. But that would mean things she didn't want to think about. She curled her fingers around Belaya's, and gently pried them loose, giving those beloved hands a squeeze before turning to go.

Walking on to the Ebon Hawk, she felt her sadness melt away, replaced by certainty. She had made the right choice. Her weakness had not held her back. She would carry Belaya's love with her to the stars, and it would make her stronger. Maybe strong enough to save the Galaxy.

 

* * *

 

Passion leads to pain, Quatra had always told her, and Juhani had thought she knew what she meant.

Watching the news broadcasts reach a Hawk floating dead in space, staring at images of Dantooine's devastated surface (so like Cathar, like Taris), Juhani realized she'd never known anything at all.

 


	2. friendship

  
Obi-Wan was meditating on the observation deck when the ship came out of hyperspace. He opened his eyes to see the great rust disc of Coruscant hanging in space below. A moment later, the comms crackled as the pilot announced their arrival.

He'd already felt a change, the moment the Queen's yacht had reentered normal space. The calm, numbing peace he had experienced since the funeral had broken, sharply. It might have been the perception-distorting weight of Coruscant in the Force, the pressure of over a trillion beings packed so densely together; it might just have been the knowledge that his quiet reprieve of travel was coming to a close, and in under an hour he would be down on the upper levels, facing crowds and noise and endless meetings and arguments. He still had not decided whether to ask for Qui-Gon's quarters, with their adjoining rooms that would be suited for Anakin once the Council had decided he was at the right level for apprenticeship.

If they even allowed Anakin to live at the Temple at all. Anxiety and determination worked in tandem to knot up Obi-Wan's stomach. His promise to Qui-Gon lay on him, heavier than all his vows and plans. He knew he would train Anakin Skywaker if he had to resign the Order and flee with the boy to the Outer Rim to do it. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. Obi-Wan knew with unshakeable certainty that he would do whatever he had to in the coming days, and weeks, and years, but he couldn't shake the bone-deep exhaustion that was blurring his focus.

The door hissed open. Obi-Wan didn't have to turn to know that Anakin had entered the lounge. He was impressed at how quietly his new charge moved, drifting over the thickly carpeted floor to sit next to Obi-Wan, copying his crosslegged pose. The boy gazed out the window, eyes wide with awe.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said. The sound of his voice surprised him, as did the words. He had difficulty connecting them to his sense of himself.

“I wanted to watch the landing,” Anakin said. He was much more subdued than he had been before the battle of Naboo, but Obi-Wan still found himself responding to the boy's quiet wonder. “This is the best ship I've ever been on.”

“It was very kind of her Majesty to offer us transport in her royal starship,” Obi-Wan agreed.

The boy frowned, lower lip jutting in a pout. “I still don't see why she couldn't come with us.”

“Padme's people need her right now,” Obi-Wan explained, for the third time.

The lip trembled. “But we need her, too.”

Impulsively, Obi-Wan rested a palm on Anakin's shoulder. “We'll survive without her,” he said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

He was unprepared for small arms to wrap around his neck, but there was too much thickness between him and the universe for this new development to really trigger any shock. Awkwardly, he moved his hand from Anakin's shoulder to his back, and patted him gingerly. He'd never really known what to do around children.

A loud hissing from outside the ship rose sharply to a piercing shriek, though the ship's expensive stabilizers did their job and the craft did not shake or shudder. Anakin slipped under Obi-Wan's arms and darted to the viewport. “We're going through the atmosphere!” he shouted, round face tinted scarlet by the bright light reflecting off pollution-ridden cloudbanks.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, and listened to the planet rushing up to greet them. Before it had always felt like a welcome. This time, it gave him the impression that he was being swallowed. Engulfed by something vast and hungry and unknowable.

The first time they'd landed on Coruscant, Anakin had been overcome by excitement, vibrating with eagerness to see the great Galactic City. Obi-Wan already knew he would forever treasure the bright memory of the small child, hiding a little behind Qui-Gon's robes, twisting and turning this way and that, overwhelmed by the impossible task of taking in every last glittering detail, all the soaring buildings and arching walkways and the flash of speeders and the glow of street signs. On this second visit, Anakin was already the jaded connoisseur, loftily giving the droids a somewhat suspect summary of Coruscant's history and various points of interest. The boy had considerably more luggage to haul than he had the last time they'd been here. Back in Theed, people had fallen over themselves to give him the odds and ends that so fascinated him. Obi-Wan had noticed on his journeys with Qui-Gon that children were often most cherished after periods of violence. He was just glad there had been handmaidens and bureaucrats willing to look after Anakin while Obi-Wan had been too lost in grief to pay his charge proper attention.

Obi-Wan himself had no physical belongings to carry, save a not so clean change of clothing and two lightsabers, one blue, one shimmering leafy green. He felt a sharp longing for his rooms at the temple. Materialistic attachments were forbidden to a Jedi, but it was permitted to pick up various small objects on one's journeys, reminders of people and places and events, and right now Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to surround himself with reminders of the half of his heart he'd lost on Naboo.

No, of course that wasn't true. What he wanted more than anything else in the galaxy was to walk down that loading ramp and find a tall, rangy man waiting for him, a smile dancing in his warm eyes, arms open, ready for Obi-Wan to run to. He wanted the aching, howling hole in the Force to be filled.

Perhaps one day, it will be, he told himself. But only if you move on and work to fill it yourself.

Still, he broke down and began to weep when he saw who really awaited him on the landing platform.

Anakin's chattering died along with the engines, silenced by the sight of the two robed figures, and Obi-Wan's sobs echoed loud in his own ears.

The overgrown young man on the platform took a step forward and grinned at Anakin. “Master Skywalker, am I right?” he asked, looking down at the boy. Anakin smiled tentatively back. “My name's Quinlan Vos,” the temple's most notorious troublemaker said, pushing a dreadlock back from his face. “But you can call me Quin, since we're going to be friends.”

Obi-Wan felt distant gratitude to Quin, but he forgot everything as he stumbled down the ramp and fell into Bant Eerin's arms.

He was still the taller one, even after all these years, but she was steady, planted firmly against his weight. Her damp webbed hands, so large and gentle, rubbed circles on his back, the suckers in her palms massaging his shoulders. He buried his face against her shoulder, tears streaming down his face to soak into her cream white robes. She smelled as she always did, of the fresh clear waterfalls in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, of the strongly perfumed flowers that bloomed there even at night, and of Bant's own salty, faintly citrusy scent. To Obi-Wan, that particular combination of scents would always mean home.

“Oh, my friend,” she murmured, rubbery lips moving gently against his hair. He wrapped his arms around her and clung.

“Let's go home,” he heard Quin say.

Home? He'd expected an immediate summons to the Council chamber, to make a full report in person-

He felt Bant's head shake. She must have picked up on his thought, the way she had when they were younglings in the creche together. “We've talked to Master Yoda,” she said. “You're not expected to make an appearance until tomorrow. We're here to take you to your old quarters.”

The wave of gratitude and relief that rolled over him was rejuvenating. He disentangled himself from Bant, found it easier to stand now that the oppressive weight of a Council summons had been removed from his shoulders. “I- thank you,” he managed weakly. “Thank you both.”

“Oh, shut up,” Quin said. “C'mon, you're gonna love my new speeder.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “His speeder?” he enquired of Bant. She rolled her eyes.

“All right, the Temple's speeder,” Quin admitted, “but it's top of the line. A senator made a donation. About time, too- the old ones were practically falling apart.”

Normally Obi-Wan would have teased Quin further, but he looked down to see Anakin's eyes light up. “Anakin,” he said, “why don't you and Master Vos go ahead? You can help him get his infernal machine ready. Bant and I have things to talk about.”

Anakin's eyes narrowed. Obi-Wan watched as his brow furrowed, as the kid tried to figure out if he was being got rid of. That irrepressible love of all things that flew won out, and he grinned and let out a whoop of joy. “Race you!” he shouted to Quinlan, and took off, a sandy blur in the crowd.

“Kid, wait up,” Quin shouted, “you don't know where you're going!” He tossed a grin and a salute to Obi-Wan and Bant, and then dashed off after Anakin.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure who moved, but somehow his hand and Bant's found each other, and their fingers twined as they walked. Jedi weren't normally so physically affectionate, but Obi-Wan couldn't bring himself to care what scandalous things the civilians of Coruscant's Upper City might assume. Bant's hand was an anchor, a gentle pressure tethering him to a world of dreamlike sounds and blurred bright yellow light. Obi-Wan felt the gentle thread of energy Bant was following, reached along it to find Quinlan at the end. Satisfied, he let her lead him through the throng.

“He's a good kid,” Bant said. “I can tell, even from such a brief meeting.” She looked up at him. Obi-Wan tried to focus on her enormous liquid silver eyes, but found he needed his concentration to avoid bumping into fellow pedestrians; he was too tired to reach for the Force to guide his steps. Bant said, quietly and seriously, “I can understand what Qui-Gon saw in him.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He is. Good, I mean. He saved all of us, on Naboo.” He was honestly surprised to discover the depths of his pride in the boy from Tatooine. “He has a kind heart.”

They spoke no more words until they caught up with the other two, amidst the clamor of the transport center.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, boy,”Anakin breathed.

Obi-Wan had been mildly concerned that Anakin might be unimpressed with Temple housing, after the magnificence of the Royal Palace in Theed. It was clear he shouldn't have worried. Obi-Wan supposed that even the simple quarters of Jedi apprentices appeared opulent in comparison with the sand houses of Mos Eisley's suburbs.

He spent a moment watching the boy examine the comfortable pallet, the meditation rug, the various plants and lights; then he moved to the small shelf in the far corner of the room, and let his hand hover over the little line of items before choosing a smooth river stone, one that had been a perfect fit for a thirteen-year-old's hand, but was now a little dwarfed by an adult human palm. He curled his fingers around it and closed his eyes, tuning out everything but the babble of the stream beyond the open sliding door, the hum of the birds and insects that made this part of the Temple their home, the warm air in the room and the dry velvet weight of the stone in his hand. The Force enveloped him, cradled him, told him he was home. Every spark of life in the galaxy, rejoicing that he was a part of the larger whole, part of the song of the universe. Obi-Wan knew that all beings joined the Living Force upon death, and that Jedi retained some individuality in the joining, that somewhere in that sea of life, his master's spirit rested, somehow in some way watching over Obi-Wan, over all Jedi. He knew that every day for the rest of his life he would call upon the Force and it would be Qui-Gon who came to his aid, Qui-Gon and all who had come before and all who would come after. The knowledge wasn't enough, but it was something to hold on to.

Home, he thought, I've come home.

There is no death, there is only the Force.

“Masters, can I ask you a question?” Anakin sounded unusually tentative. “Is this where I am going to live?”

“I haven't passed my trials yet,” Bant said. “You don't need to call me Master. Bant will do.” Obi-Wan heard a sound he assumed was her patting the boy's shoulder. “And yes, you will stay here for now, until we find out whether you will be joining the creche or living with the older children.”

Until the Council produced a verdict on his fate, Obi-Wan thought, until they decided if Anakin was to be given a chance to prove himself or dumped with the orphans the Order raised out of charity and trained for public service.

He opened his eyes to catch worry clouding Anakin's small face. “How long will that take?” the boy asked plaintively.

“A few days at most,” Quin said reassuringly. “In the meantime, how would you like a tour of the practice courts? If we're lucky, you could see a few Jedi duels!”

“That would be wicked,” Anakin said, worry vanishing, replaced by a wide sunny smile.

Quin nudged Bant. “I'll bring him back in an hour, and then maybe you can take him for a swim? If he's still got enough juice by then, of course!” He winked at Anakin, who gazed back in undisguised admiration. Obi-Wan wondered if he should warn his old friend that he was likely to have a new worshiper by the end of the day at the rate he was going.

“Sounds good,” Bant said. She turned to Obi-Wan. “Do you mind if I make some tea?”

Obi-Wan gestured wordlessly. Anywhere he called home was Bant's home also. He hoped she could see that. After all these years, after everything.

She set the water to heat, and then sat on the floor. After a brief hesitation Obi-Wan sat down beside her. Quin and Anakin departed, Anakin chattering to Obi-Wan's old friend.

Obi-Wan and Bant sat in silence for a while. It was Bant who spoke first.

“Garen and Master Rhara are still on Balmorra,” she said, “but Reeft and Siri and Adi have invited us to dinner this evening. You don't have to go if you don't want to.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, “that sounds- good.” He was glad Garen and his former master were offworld. Clee Rhara had been close friends with Qui-Gon, and with Tahl, long ago. He wasn't sure he could face her at the moment, wasn't sure his guilt would allow him to maintain his composure. She would not blame him for Qui-Gon's death, but it would still hurt.

“We'll be going out,” Bant continued. “Just to a little caf in the Financial District. It's quiet, and not far, and the food is very good.”

He nodded. “I look forward to it,” he said, and then, “but I'm glad it was just you and Quin, at first.”

Honestly, he was not sure he wanted to see Siri, either. He was vaguely worried about what she might say to him, or worse, if she might not say anything at all. He was so tired.

Bant stood, and returned with a cup of tea, which she placed in his unresisting hands. Obi-Wan watched the steam rise, and then he watched Bant, through the haze of evaporation. She'd always been the most beautiful thing in Obi-Wan's world, ever since he'd first laid eyes on her in the creche, a tiny five-year-old with an enormous, impossibly luminous silver gaze. Now, at twenty-one, she had grown into herself, still a small woman but very graceful, very steady, above all sure of who she was. He knew her face better than his own, knew the large domed head, the wrinkled salmon skin, would be able to pick her out of a crowd of Mon Calamari.

He said, “Well, now I know.”

He watched her blink. She didn't say anything, just waited for him to clarify.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, and looked down, swallowed. “I know how you felt. On New Apsolon.”

Calmly, she told him, “No.”

He couldn't think straight. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, and touched his arm. “Obi-Wan. Listen to me.”

He touched her hand where it rested on his sleeve.

She said, “Tahl was my teacher for three years, Obi-Wan. I loved her, more than I'd ever thought possible. But she never took me on any missions. We never really worked together. I didn't even see her that often.” Her pale eyes slivered with regret. “When she died, I mourned the woman I loved, and I mourned that I would never truly get to know her.”

“Bant,” Obi-Wan began.

“Listen. Obi-Wan. You've been Qui-Gon's apprentice for twelve years. Everyone says you're the best master and apprentice team in decades. The two of you do- did- everything together. You've saved each other's lives so many times.” She smiled. “It's all right to acknowledge that our losses are different, my friend. It doesn't diminish my pain, or devalue Tahl's life. I lost a teacher on New Apsolon, and the potential of a relationship. You've lost a very dear companion.”

Obi-Wan leaned against her, cup warm in his hands. “And when did you get to be so wise?” he murmured.

She laughed. “I've probably been spending too much time with Master Yoda.”

Much to his surprise, Obi-Wan found that he was actually beginning to feel better. Sitting here laughing with Bant, warm tea in his hands, the river stone in his pocket: it was all reminding him that he did have something of a life that still remained even after the flood.

“I'm taking my trials next week,” Bant said.

“Good,” he replied. “You'll be the youngest Knight in our cohort, you know.”

“You think I'm ready?”

“I think you've been ready for a while,” he said. “Kit Fisto's been good for you.” He smiled at her. “I remember you always felt you were constantly trying to catch up to the rest of us, but the truth is, you've always left us in the dust. Even when you were leaping ahead of the others in your year, you couldn't help but measure yourself by your relation to us instead. It was never a fair comparison, Bant.”

He drank the tea. It was perfect. He wondered if it had been Tahl who'd taught her how to make it. “Don't worry,” he said. “I don't mind being last.”

She gave him a look of surprise. “You haven't heard?” she asked, and though she sounded calm as ever he could feel her shock in the Force.

He shook his head a little. “Heard what?”

“The Council decided yesterday,” Bant said. “Everyone's heard by now.” She put a hand on his knee. “They've declared the Battle of Naboo your field trial. You're a full Knight now.”

Obi-Wan sat back a little. His hand went instinctively to the rough end of his braid. A lot of apprentices liked to decorate theirs with small beads, to represent important events in their apprenticeship. Obi-Wan had never adopted the trend. He hadn't wanted to get attached to something he would eventually have to lose.

Bant reached up, motion mirroring Obi-Wan's. Her own braid was formed of twisted silver ribbons, falling from a band around her forehead. He knew it was made of waterproof material to accommodate her daily dips in the fountains. She touched it lightly, then let her hand drop.

“Good,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, hoping he sounded decisive. “I'm glad. And honored, of course,” he added hastily, remembering decorum.

He really was glad. He'd been fairly certain that the Council wouldn't assign him a new master, not at his age, but he'd been unsure if they would want him to take his Trials immediately, unsure if it would be better to get it over with or wait until he was more prepared. Anakin needed a Knight on his side, and giving his report to the masters would be easier if he could see them as simply his superiors, rather than the omnipotent controllers of his fate.

“It's more than deserved,” Bant said. “We'd all have been outraged if they hadn't given you your knighthood. A padawan defeating a Sith Lord in single combat? I knew you were the best, but- wow, Obi-Wan. Quin's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard, and he's worryingly keen on dueling you again.”

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan moaned, putting his head in his hands. “I don't think he was really a lord, you know.” Which had been weighing on him. If there was an apprentice, there had to be a master, and- but that was the Council's concern, not his. Something else sank in. “The whole temple's heard already?”

She patted his shoulder. “I'm afraid so.”

He groaned.

“Get some rest,” she advised. “I can tell you're exhausted.” She stood up, and pushed him gently towards his familiar pallet.

Obi-Wan was suddenly terrified. He hadn't slept since the battle. He'd meditated through the voyage, and the night before that he'd spent sitting awake by the smoldering pyre, watched Qui-Gon's ashes dissipate in the midnight breeze, and before that he'd slept in a bunk on the Queen's ship, limbs compressed against his torso, Qui-Gon's large frame folded around him, absurdly long legs uncomfortably bent to fit in the too-small space. The hum of the ship's drive had been comforting, as had the weight and warmth at his back. On missions, Obi-Wan always slept better with his teacher within arm's reach, and so he hadn't minded the cramped quarters, the ship crammed with more beings than it had been meant for. He'd lain there and listened to Qui-Gon breathe, trying to ignore the bad premonitions that had threatened to overwhelm him.

“Bant,” he said. His fingers reached for her sleeve and clung. “I can't-” He swallowed. “I don't think I can sleep alone.”

She looked at him. “All right,” she said.

He let her manhandle him onto the cot, and his eyes were already half-closed when he felt her flop down beside him. He had a sudden strong sense of deja-vu, a conviction that time had reversed and they were both younglings again, rubber-boned and loose-limbed, sneaking naps on the grass on hot summer days, back when his greatest fear was not being picked as an apprentice and his only enemy was Bruck's petty cruelty, when Sith were the stuff of the more exciting stories and no nine year old children looked at him with eyes that knew that he held their fragile futures in the palm of his hand.

“I love you,” he said, speaking the words aloud for the first time in his conscious memory, and Bant, his friend and fellow orphan, snuggled into the folds of his wartorn robes and murmured silently, _I know._

 


	3. filia

It turned out that the warm spicy drink the Ewoks dispensed so liberally was extremely alcoholic. Leia watched Luke through a warm haze, saw his movements relax and was glad to see that even Jedi could get drunk. She watched him laugh long and loud at some joke of Lando's, saw his sandy hair fall over his eyes and was hit by a sharp pang of affection deep in her chest. Brother. She had a brother. Luke.

She'd never wondered, the way other adoptees did, because her parents had told her, when she was twelve and just starting her public duties. Their story had been vague on the details, but honest in its general shape, or so she'd thought. Her mother had been a good friend of the Organas, her father a war hero, and they'd both died in the Clone Wars. No, she wasn't part alien. No, she wasn't going to die of any awful inherited disease. No, she didn't have siblings.

They'd lied to her, and she'd never be able to ask them why. She supposed they'd been trying to keep her safe. If her father really was- she shied away from that thought.

Leia had heard people say that they loved their friends like brothers. She understood the concept, intellectually, but she'd never felt that particular connection herself. Certainly not with Luke. It was something else, something unique and yet steady and comfortable. He was more than a best friend, but not really a lover, though kissing him had certainly been no chore. He was- Luke, the farmboy who could move things with his mind, whose open smile lit up her world.

She felt Han shift at her side. “Go to bed,” she murmured fondly, pressing her lips to his hair and getting a whiff of his sickly-sweet breath. He'd drunk too much. She was almost glad; it meant he felt safe here. He mumbled something into her shoulder, and she helped him stagger to his feet, sent him off away from the heat and noise of the firepit, towards the woven hut that apparently served as the village's guest accommodations. They were both exhausted and inebriated, so nothing too exciting would happen tonight, but she thought they would probably curl up together in the pile of furs. She would sleep well, listening to him snore, knowing that he was secure by her side, warm, unfrozen.

The night was much darker than any on Alderaan. They were on the Outer Rim, after all, away from the glow of the galaxy, and the thick black canopy of leaves caught the planetlight of Endor. So the village was lit only by the pulsing red illumination of torches and firepits. Her eyes stung from the smoke and she strained to see past the bright heart of the big fire. Still, she felt Luke's presence before he put his hand on her shoulder. He was silent and invisible in his dark clothes, but she felt him at her back, and reached up to touch his fingertips. And then, impulsively, she turned, and pulled him into yet another hug. He was rock-steady. His clothes were hot from the fire.

“I knew something,” she said, uncharacteristically disjointed, “but I didn't know you were my brother. I didn't know I had a brother. It's- I'm glad,” and her eyes sting from more than smoke as it finally sinks in: she has family again. A tiny, strange family, but a strong one, and it survived the Death Star twice.

“Me too,” Luke says, arms wrapping around her, forehead tilting down to touch hers. “I always wanted a sister, you know. But I never thought she'd be a princess.”

She remembered that he was an orphan, too. It was almost ironic. The Empire had taken away their birth family, and then it had thrown them back together.

“We can talk,” she said. “Later, we can talk. I'll tell you what I know about- about our mother, and you-”

She stopped.

She couldn't see Luke's face, only feel his body tense as he said to her quietly, “He wanted me to tell you that he'd repented. He changed. He loved us, in his way, and he died to save us.”

The knowledge wouldn't keep that dark figure out of her nightmares, but she decided she was glad to know it anyway.

He let her go, and she took his hand. They walked to a quiet corner and sat. Leia's head was spinning, but in a pleasant way.

“What did you mean?” she asked. “Last night- when you said I had your power. I don't understand. I've never done anything like what you do.”

“I hadn't either,” he said, slow and hesitant, “not until Ben showed me how to open myself up to the Force.” He shifted, sat a bit closer. “I can teach you. If you like. I don't know how good of a teacher I'd be, but I'll do my best.”

Leia thought about it. It seemed ridiculous. Leia Organa, ruler of a scattered people, senator of a disbanded political body representing a vanished planet, figurehead of a rebellion that might have just won- Leia Organa, Jedi Knight? Luke might be a brilliant pilot, a charismatic leader, and a decent mechanic, but he was above all else the Jedi, singular, the last of a line of fabled heroes. Leia could never be a Jedi first. The crowds had always gasped and cheered when she'd had Luke light up his strange sword, delighted to see a legend come to life. How would they react if they saw the first daughter of Alderaan wielding a lightsaber? The stories held that the Jedi kept themselves separate from the galaxy. Could one be a Jedi and also a politician?

“If you think it's a good idea,” she said, but he replied, gently, “No, Leia. It must be your decision.”

Luke was so enthusiastic and genuine that she often forgot that he was the wisest of them all. Leia looked inside herself. “I need time to consider,” she said. “But- I think my answer will be yes.” Even as she said it, she felt a sense of rightness spreading through her bones. If there had never been a Jedi queen before, then she would be the first.

She could just make out the glimmer of his grin.

They needed to sleep. There would be so much to do in the morning. Leia rested her head in the crook between Luke's neck and shoulder. This moment was pure and calm, and she wanted to draw it out as long as she could. Some things were more important than sleep. Some things had to be savored, so they could be remembered forever.

 _I love you,_ Luke said, and he didn't say it out loud but somehow she heard the words anyway.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, “brother.” The word was easy on her tongue. _I'll always love you._


End file.
